He had heard that when you turn 30, you’ll be able to grasp what is water under the bridge in a way that you can’t in your twenties or teens. Well, today he’s 30 alright. “Dirty thirty,” Evan in the cubicle next to him keeps saying, “dirty thirty.” But something malfunctioned. A damn or a dam leaked. His inner bridge is still submerged, underwater. He can’t figure out where he went wrong “Dirty thirty,” Evan says again.
***
Laurel Shimasaki lives in New Orleans. Her work appears in Catapult, New Delta Review, Hobart, Jellyfish Review, Maudlin House, Queen Mob’s Tea House, and elsewhere.
Rejection Letters 